


Falling Snow

by whiskyandwords



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 05:54:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16423673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskyandwords/pseuds/whiskyandwords
Summary: Horror movies and moments in a snowstorm.





	Falling Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Whelp. Whiskey. Sorry. Spelling mistakes abound. Enjoy.

“You’re wearing a House of 1000 corpses shirt!”

Holtzmann freezes, the frosted rim of her beer stein pressed to her lower lip. Only her eyes shift towards the physicist sitting near her.

Erin is blushing and avoids eye contact as she studies the shirt partially hidden by the unzipped ‘uniform’ tied around Holtzmann’s waist. She makes a nervous sip of her obnoxiously sweet drink, a vodka slime (Holtz teases her mercilessly about ordering ‘slime’ when she’s gets enough of it spattered through her hair on every bust)

It’s been exactly 121 hours, 17minutes and a few odd seconds since they slept together. Not that Holtzmann is counting. Almost a week of carefully avoiding each other’s spaces, never being alone in a room and stilted conversation about the weather. The lines that Erin left upon her back have finally stopped stinging in the shower but the memory that her voice evokes in Jillian’s mind are still raw.

It’s was a mistake right? A gin fuelled wildfire that burned out of control. And besides, she’s put it out of her head. It was one glorious night and she’ll suppress as much of the memory as she can, but a smouldering ember still remains. A tremble of desire flickers through her body as she thinks of Erin’s eyes. Beautiful, bright and blue like the ice on a frozen endless sea. A quizzical intensity as Holtzmann brought her closer and closer to the edge and the answer, never breaking eye contact even as she gasped and pleadingly whispered for more. Those eyes that...that are staring straight at her.

They’re here and now. Coworkers, Ghostbusters, friends, wedged into a tiny booth of a bar celebrating them. Abby and Patty are determinedly ignoring the odd distance between the other half of the group and are on their fourth shot,laughing and regaling a crowd with ghost stories.

How long has Holtz been frozen for? Erin is staring at her, head slightly cocked. Right, horror movies. Stupid shirt. She tips the glass up, head tickling her throat, sputters, coughs.

“Are you alright?” 

She nods and wipes the beer from her lips as the physicist leans in closer to check. “Thousand Corpses?”

Erin scrunches her nose up in distaste and takes another sip of her drink, “yeah. I saw that”

“You havaaaaave?” Jillian says in drawn out in mock surprise. She can’t keep the shock from her expression as she turns, achingly slow towards the redhead. Whether it’s from the fact that Erin is actually attempting to converse with her or that the subject is horror movies is irrelevant. Erin is speaking to her.

“Yes.”

Holtzmann blinks owlishly and watches the blush bloom across Erin’s checks. 

“I hated it.”

She’s not surprised by this fact, “You diiiid?” 

Ice clinks against glass as Erin swirls her drink absently with a tiny plastic sword. The bar they are in has banned straws. Which Holtz totally supports, save the whales and all but she misses the smell of melting plastic. A bored habit of playing with fire when she has nothing to do leads to hypothesizing and eventual tests of heat, flames and many mangled straws.

“Phil wanted to watch it. It was awful. He got so grossed up he threw up.”

An undignified snort of a laugh escapes Holtzmann, “weak. They didn’t even get the fake blood proper!”

A smile flirts at the edges of Erin’s lips. “You’re such a weirdo”

Cocking a finger gun, the engineer winks before shooting, “I’m your weirdo”

Silence falls, sensed only by the two of them. The music, chatter and general bar noise tuned out. Holtzmann is sure Erin can hear the way her heart has sped up, that even breathing might shatter the redhead’s sudden rigid posture.

Panic! Backtrack! “I mean I’m everybody’s weirdo...” she tries.

Time slowing down, cold anxiety at implying she is Erin’s anything, stupid. So stupid. Why point out the elephant in the room when she’s practically waving at it. Flee!

She bolts from the booth, not even bothering to pull up her coveralls, too slime covered in any event. She’s out the door by the time the stunned physicist can react.

It’s snowing. Hard. Unusually chilly for a New York winter and she kicks snowdrifts as she storms past. She knows better to get tangled up with affairs of the heart. But she stops when she hears her name. The redhead huffs as she runs into the small glow of streetlight and comes to a stop a foot away. Nothing moves except the lightly falling snow.

She sees Erin’s lips move but with the blood pounding in her ears she cannot hear. Then Erin is leaning closer and the softly whispered words puff gently again her cheek. 

“You could be my weirdo if you want...”

Oh. 

Their faces are so close she can feel the other woman breathe. Moments. Seconds, eons. Thoughts built into grand realizations, a millennia of possibilities and actions compressed into the space between heartbeats. What’s that thing she needs? Oh right, oxygen. But so does fire. A smouldering desire brought back to life with a sharp intake of air. Erin is watching her, guarded and hesitant and Jillian can’t help reaching over to pull her gently closer. 

Fingertips trace her bare shoulders and the goosebumps that follow have nothing to do with the cold. What cold. It is too hot in fact. A flash fire billowing through her body, blazing lust impervious to the cold. Erin kisses her then and it is even better then she remembers. She is consumed and overwhelmed by the desperation and desire of Erin’s actions. They stumble backwards and slam non too gently against a wall shadowed just beyond the streetlight. She gasps and hears a small moan in response. Erin’s ice cold hands slip up and under the stupid shirt and she arches her back as cold fingers play across her nipples. Her breath hangs in little puffs, steam clouds in the winter air. She is already wet and wonders with what still functioning part of her mind works, if Erin is too. The thought ignites and she must know. With monumental effort she spins them around and tugs the skipper of the jumpsuit down. Erin is nodding and whispering a litany of pleading words as she helps guide Holtzmann’s hand to her. 

“Oh my god Holtz!” She pants as Jillian slides her fingers against her. Her fingers scrabble desperately against Holtzmann’s back before moving up to fist into blonde hair. Then Jillian lends the strength of her hip to her movement and rocks her fingers into Erin.

Time slows down, there is so much fire and warmth Holtzmann’s can almost see a snowflake melt on the eyelash of Erin’s wide eyed expression. 

A tiny ‘oh’ escapes Erin’s lips and then they are moving together. Every breath ratcheting a little higher as Holtzmann’s fingers draw incoherent whimpering curses and prayers from the redhead.

‘Jill!’

Breathless, desperate, small. The tone of Erin’s last coherent word ignites an echoing shudder through Holtzmann’s own body. They slump, breathing hard, Erin held up by gravity and sheer willpower on Jillian’s part.

Snow falls silently, sparkling in the lamplight, and they are alone in their own universe. There’s tears or maybe snowflakes, Jillian isn’t sure which, on Erin’s cheeks and they rest foreheads pressed together.

‘So what...’ 

Jillian’s words are cut off as Erin presses a finger to her lips to stop the words. Ice runs through Holtzmann’s veins but quickly thaws as the physicist slips their fingers together and gently pushers her back. Then quietly tugs her off down the snowy street in a direction that is definitely not towards Jillian’s place. Or the Firetower. Or the bar. Her smile could melt the polar caps.


End file.
